


Show Me The Ropes

by Imagining_in_the_Margins



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, BDSM, BDSM Scene, Dom Spencer Reid, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, F/M, Heavy BDSM, Kink Exploration, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Self-Insert, Smut, Sub Spencer Reid, Switching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:15:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26127877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imagining_in_the_Margins/pseuds/Imagining_in_the_Margins
Summary: Spencer is reintroduced to the BDSM community during a case. He strikes it up with a Switch who, upon seeing his interest, offers her services.
Relationships: Spencer Reid/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 45





	Show Me The Ropes

It was a calm Friday night in Washington, D.C. and the air smelled of cherry blossoms, dogwoods, and adventure. Just inside the five star hotel suite was a collection of oversized coats not fit for the weather. They weren’t meant to keep us warm; they were meant to keep us safe from prying, judgmental eyes.

Past those coats, though, that’s where the real fun was to be had. Sadly, it wouldn’t be had by me that night. Or at least, I thought it wouldn’t.

My nail tapped absentmindedly against the wine glass in my hand, which attracted the attention of the man beside me more than anything else. It certainly didn’t do anything for my nerves. Still, it was obvious that of the two of us, I was more comfortable in our current situation. I couldn’t blame him; it must have been strange to be there while on the clock.

“You know, this wouldn’t have been nearly as uncomfortable for you if the serial killer had decided to start killing people _before_ our monthly munch.” I said quietly, hoping that it was the kind of innocuous joke that might appeal to an FBI agent currently stuck inside a BDSM event. But to say it did not land would be a dramatic understatement. 

Without even moving his eyes from their position settled over the crowd, the man apathetically answered, “I’ve been to a munch before, and I’m not uncomfortable.” 

“Could’ve fooled me.” I answered just as quickly, taking a bored sip from my drink and continuing to inspect the tense body language he presented to me.

In his defense, there were a few reasons that he could have looked the way he did. His hands were shoved in his pockets, his shoulders back and his head held high. They could all just have been signs of attempted confidence, or perhaps even real arrogance. But the thing that gave him away was in the subtle movement within his pockets where I could tell his hands were balled into fists. His jaw, sharp and raised, was clenched so tightly that I was surprised I couldn’t hear the grinding of teeth.

Something was making him angry, nervous, or aroused. And God, did I hope it was the third one.

“When did you go to a munch?” I pressed, insisting on having a more interesting night than what had happened thus far.

He did not share my enthusiasm.

“Not relevant.”

Holding my glass in the air, I gestured to the three piece suit he was currently wearing as if to ask the reason he wore such apropos clothing. “Was it for work? Or—“

He didn’t let the word ‘ _play_ ’ ever make it to my tongue. 

“Not relevant.” He said more sternly now, finally turning to look at me with a glare that sent very inappropriate shivers down my spine. Luckily for my sanity and the taxpayer dollars, though, I’d grown accustomed to stymieing pesky thoughts of that particular type.

“You’re quite the conversationalist, Dr. Reid.” The sarcasm dripped from my lips the same as the legs of the red wine trailed down the glass in my hands. 

“Don’t call me that here.”

I should have rolled my eyes. My body should have reacted to the order with the stubbornness I’d instilled over years of dedicated practice in avoiding the urge to cave to the will of men. But I didn’t roll my eyes, and instead of recoiling, my legs turned toward him, my hand finding a comfortable spot on his lower back as I stepped forward.

“Then what would you like me to call you? Just doctor?” I whispered quietly enough to coax him closer. And whether he knew it or not, his face tilted ever so slightly, closing the gap between us that little bit more. There was another reaction to the title, but it was too fleeting for me to place it.

I wanted it to happen again. I wasn’t sure why — what it was about this frankly rude man that made me want to provoke him, but it was the strongest thing I’d felt in months, and I wasn’t ready to let it go. So, my hand gently drew a line up his spine, landing at the base of his neck and lacing through the brown mop of curls that was too soft for his own good.

Everything about him was enigmatic, but nothing more so than the way he stood rigid and unflinching at the overly intimate contact, even as my breath fanned over his ear.

“That’s a title fit for a dominant.” I purred, “I might as well just call you _sir_.”

“Which role do you prefer?” He asked, a seemingly genuine curiosity in his cadence.

I rewarded his sincerity with honesty and a shrug. “With you? I’m not sure yet.”

His hair fell from between my fingers as he turned his face to mine, our lips inches apart as he responded with a stern, cold tone, “Then call me sir.”

The way my body responded was downright virginal, which was a word I wouldn’t have used to describe myself in quite some time. But there was no other way to describe the naive, bubbly joy that threatened to spill out with my labored breath.

Maybe it was the challenge, I thought; that was the reason that I wanted to close the gap between us. I wanted to see him get to the point where he lost the composure he clearly worked too hard to maintain, his facade of stoic apathy falling away.

“Do you like to share, sir?”

Although he tried not to alter his face, I saw the slightest twitch of his lip and the flash of anger in his eyes. “Why are you asking?”

My hands were running over his shoulders, trying to remain occupied with the collar of his shirt. “I have a scene in a little bit, so you better get ready to pretend if you don’t.” I said as innocently as possible, purposefully avoiding looking at him with the hope that it would only exacerbate any jealousy that might appear.

But he seemed to be aware of my tricks and employed a few of his own.

“You’re not actually my date, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

I pouted, releasing my hold on him now that he had made it clear he wasn’t going to fall for the simple moves that other men succumbed to in seconds. I’d found that with men like him, distance was usually better than intimacy. That was okay; I could play hard to get. Hell, most of the time, I wasn’t even playing.

“Aren’t you going to be distracted?” My hands felt so restless now, finding any errant hair or wrinkle in my outfit to correct. I hated to use the word “anxious” to describe myself, but that’s what it felt like.

Why would I feel that way, though? He was right. He wasn’t my date, and he probably wouldn’t even be watching me when I was up there. Really, I should have hoped that he wouldn’t watch me, considering he was here to find someone murdering young people. But you know, studies have shown that individuals often consider themselves invincible, and I never said that I was a good person.

“I’ll be distracted, but not in the way you’re implying. I’ll be monitoring the people in the crowd.” This time when he whispered, it made sense why. Not like a bystander would know what he meant, anyway. He honestly just sounded like a voyeur, which was totally commonplace at my events. It was kind of why most people came in the first place.

Still, the idea of him ignoring me on the stage seemed a little ridiculous. Granted, he’d never seen me perform before— and he had been surrounded by overtly sexual acts all night without ever so much as batting an eye, but this was different. Because the obvious truth was that to Spencer Reid, something was different about me. I didn’t know what, but I knew it was something.

“I have a feeling it’ll be harder to ignore me than you think.” I teased, finally meeting his eyes. What I found was worth the buildup.

“Who are you performing with?” He shifted the topic so swiftly I swore I got the conversational equivalent of whiplash.

“Jealous already, sir?” My fingertips splayed across my chest; I feigned that trademark coquettish nature that dominant men would die for. But he just kept staring, his eyes narrowing just enough to be noticed, a clear warning that I should answer his question, lest I lose his interest altogether.

“A friend. He was one of my first partners. Don’t worry though, there is no romantic affiliation.” I mumbled through a sigh, waving a disinterested hand. If he wouldn’t let me play games, there was no point in talking at all. It wasn’t like I was allowed to actually sleep with him while he was here, anyway.

…Right?

“Why would I care about that?” He sneered, his nose scrunching up as the disgust remained long after the words ended. It was adorable, how he could be so expressive and so completely oblivious to to it at the same time. 

“I just wanted you to know.” I explained, “Figured it might make it easier to watch… unless you like the idea of me with another man.” That was less of an attempt to make him jealous than a genuine attempt to find the real answer, which would undoubtedly be hidden behind whatever came out of his mouth next.

And it was an interesting answer on both counts.

“I’m not a cuckold, and you don’t belong to me.”

The way my lips curled into a small smile that eventually grew over my cheeks was too obvious to hide, so I didn’t even try. “Not with that attitude, I don’t.” I laughed, my hand finding its way back to his arm before I had the wherewithal to stop it.

There was a retort on the tip of his tongue, but he never said it. Our attention was so focused on each other that I didn’t even hear my friend approaching until Spencer glanced up to acknowledge his presence. Even then, his hand on my shoulder shocked me enough to send a jolt through my body.

I tried to play it off as a gentle squeeze of Spencer’s arm, but I think he knew that I had just gotten lost in the private world we’d shared for the past few minutes.

“Duty calls.” My hand fell from his arm, still tingling with the warmth of his body heat that I longed to feel in so many different places. I looked up at him one last time, wanting to see his full expression when I asked the question I’d been waiting for ever since I first put my hand on him.

“Should I think of you, sir?”

“Do whatever you want.” He grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets and taking a step away to distance himself both from what had already happened and what was fast approaching.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” I said with a small curtsy, “Thank you for your permission, sir.”

As I left, I felt his presence stay with me in the form of his gaze burning into my back. I knew two things in that moment; that Spencer Reid saw something in me the same way I saw something in him, and that he definitely would not be able to ignore me for long.

—

(Y/n) was too smart and too beautiful for her own good. She had a good head perched on perfectly sculpted shoulders, and God, did she know it.

She wasn’t wrong to be confident; she had every reason to be proud. She was a successful woman who spent her days being praised by numerous men, with even more people undoubtedly lining up for a chance at earning her affection. But for all her confidence and poise, she never once registered as arrogant. She probably should have been at that point, considering the recognition she’d earned.

On the stage, she stood still and silent as he removed her clothing, taking off each piece slowly and carefully like she was a porcelain doll at constant risk of being shattered by careless men. She didn’t have to do anything. Her eyes were closed, a small smile on her face as she was unveiled before the crowd like a present meant just for them.

I wanted to take her in; to memorize the way the light hugged the gentle curves of her body so that I could imagine what it might be like to have her. But my eyes were stuck on her face as she contentedly sighed at the cool air nipping at her skin. How could I look at her body like this, knowing that it wasn’t only for me? If I was going to have her, she was going to be mine in every sense of the word— at least for the night.

Her eyes remained shut as she leaned over the table, and I found myself walking around the back of the room to find a new viewpoint where I could still see her face. I wanted to watch her as another man touched her because I wanted to know how she might react if I did. The fantasy in my head begged for the most accurate representation of her wanton desire, and she was presenting it to me on a silver platter and with a leather flogger.

With each gentle snap and swish of the thick fabric, she would cry out with an equally matched enthusiasm. I couldn’t see the marks they left, but I knew that they existed. I could see the resistance in the tiniest tremors that shook her thighs.

She was exactly the kind of woman that I needed. The kind of woman who wasn’t afraid of darkness or power. It was obvious in her stance that she was both comfortable and proficient at wielding both. Maybe that’s why watching her on that stage was driving me insane.

When they’d all grown tired of her pathetic whimpers, the flogger had been put aside in exchange for a set of hands. I’d never touched her, but I felt like I knew what it must be like. With just the sighs and gasps she’d produced in our brief conversation I could imagine how easy it would be to manipulate her body until she was nothing but trembling pleas.

But his hands were sloppy and careless as they roamed over the planes of her back now marred with welts. He hit her in a way that elicited sounds, but never the right ones. She never stopped giving them, though. I understood why she called it a performance; so much of it was as fake as the lashes she’d glued on her lids.

She locked eyes with me so intensely from her position on the stage that I had to interpret it as a challenge. Between the whorish moans, she bit down on her lip before letting half of it slip from her teeth. I could feel the meaning hidden behind the gesture, and it filled me with rage.

Because even after being awarded years of practice touching her, he was still doing it _wrong_. She was putting on a show that neither her partner nor her audience had earned. The most she was getting out of this was a half-hearted satisfaction that the crowd enjoyed her presence enough to ignore the falsity on display.

Why did she stroke his ego when he did nothing for her? And why did everyone just believe it? Could they not see the fight in her eyes? The clarity that communicated her own resistance to falling into that space where she could finally let go of all the tension she held?

I wanted to give it to her. I wanted to show her what her true boundaries were— how much more she could handle before she broke. And then after I had her, shattered in pieces in my hands, I wanted to put her back together again, leaving behind small traces of my existence in the cracks.

She was exactly the woman that I wanted.

“You ever see a woman and immediately fall in love?”

The stranger beside me broke me from my reverie, and thankfully reminded me that I wasn’t here to find a woman. I was here for work. But it was obvious with just a single glance that this wasn’t the man I was looking for— the admiration in his eyes as he watched (y/n) was too pure.

He’d fallen for her. It was understandable.

“I’m not that much of a romantic.” I answered with partial honesty. The truth was that I might have described myself that way at one point, but between losing my first love and three months in prison, I had lost the naïveté required to fully believe in a happily ever after.

Everything was hard. True happiness came from finding a person willing to weather the storms with you. I knew that’s what he was asking, and I should have just admitted it. But instead I opted for the vague half-admission, “But I can appreciate the potential I see in people.”

And there was so much potential in her it filled me with the most intense type of frustration. I wondered if the other men saw it, but it didn’t seem like they did. They were too caught up in their basest desires to see past them. They couldn’t imagine what it might be like to hold her life in their hands and want to protect it with their own.

I could see it. I could see her on her knees in front of me not because that’s where I told her to be, but because that’s where she wanted to be.

“You know, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but a few of us overheard and needed to clarify…” He began again, speaking much quieter now as he leaned closer to me. “The Mistress, does she really call you sir?”

The question was fascinating in its simplicity. He sounded genuinely shocked and morbidly curious. I figured I would put him out of his misery.

“Yes.”

She wouldn’t want a man like him, anyway.

“You lucky bastard. How did you manage that?” He chuckled, cementing my theory and proving himself to be too self-absorbed to see the answers displayed in front of him under shimmering chandelier lights.

“How do you think?” I didn’t mean to sound so defensive or cruel. I really wasn’t intimidated by him; he was just irritating. Not only was he a waste of time considering he wasn’t the man I needed to find, but he was also distracting me from the only other person in the room I wanted to hear from.

And it was hard not to hear her. The acoustics of the room made it feel like she was surrounding me. Even over the whispers of the gossiping onlookers, I could hear each breath. At times it felt like I could even hear her heart. But on closer inspection, and with any thought at all, I realized I was hearing my own pulse as it tried to find hers.

“I don’t have a single fucking clue. I’ve been here for 4 years and I’ve never once seen it happen.”

But that… that was interesting. I turned to him, unfortunately unable to hide the confused excitement that spread over my face like a wildfire in a drought ridden forest. The man who’d had nothing to offer me seconds prior now held the key to the Pandora’s box currently bent over on the stage.

He knew this was the only time I’d care about what he had to say, so he drew it out as much as he could. Raising a slow hand to point to the woman watching us with glassy eyes, he quietly announced, “The only person she’s ever submitted to is up on that stage with her.”

I looked back at the man behind her, but only for a second. I hated to admit that she was right, but it was simply too hard to ignore her. Granted, at the moment it was only hard because I could see the way her legs began to shake, the tremors spreading over her body until she could barely keep her eyes open any longer.

I say barely because her eyes stubbornly remained open, even as they began to roll backwards. Her focus, though weak, was insistent.

She kept her eyes on me. Not once through the haze of pleasure did she ever look away, staying true to her word to think of me. I hated how much it affected me, but I wasn’t going to fight it.

My eyes didn’t remain on her, and I turned to the man with a possessiveness that was powerful enough to erect the hair on the back of my own neck.

“Not anymore.” I said with the utmost confidence that, unlike (y/n)’s, had hardly been earned. Not yet. It would be soon, though, if I played my cards right.

And not to brag, but I’ve always been good at cards.

“Understood. I’ll let the others know.” He conceded, lifting his hands in a final act of defeat. Before he left my side, he granted me one last thought that would haunt me for the rest of the night.

“And good luck.”

—

Normally I would say that there is nothing sweeter than the satisfaction of being told that I was right, but I think Spencer made it possible. From the minute my scene ended, he watched me from a distance with an obvious cloud of discontent that kept everyone away. Occasionally, his eyes would dart around the room as he remembered he needed to actually look for the person he had come for.

Because Spencer hadn’t come for me, I reminded myself. After the night ended, it was very possible I wouldn’t ever see him again. At least, not on my territory.

Why did that make me sad? It was the only thing I could think about when I grabbed a glass of wine, like that wouldn’t make it harder to figure out. 

“Alcohol is going to dramatically increase your bruising.”

I nearly choked on the much too sweet liquid, my instincts having failed to warn me about the man who’d clearly approached me faster than he should have. Once I was able to comprehend what he’d said, I turned to him with the trademark smirk of the cat who got the canary.

“Would that upset you, sir?” I gently purred, running my hand down his arm before attempting to intertwine our fingers. He didn’t let me. “Do you not want to see another man’s marks on me?”

My feminine wiles clearly needed some work, or in the very least I needed to better understand what made Dr. Spencer Reid tick, because I was getting nowhere. His jaw stayed steady in its pressure, and when he turned his head to look down at me, his expression remained unmoved.

He didn’t say anything; he just stared. It said enough to make my hand tremble under the weight of the glass, which I quickly drank from to ease the tension. Spencer didn’t like that, either.

Feeling the sudden need to defend myself, I explained, “Normally I don’t drink when I’m here with a date.”

“So stop drinking.”

I jerked at the order, and without even noticing I tried to pull my arm away from him. But, having sensed the shift before myself, Spencer grabbed my wrist before it got too far.

Staring down at the vice like grip he held on the wrist that had been bound moments before, a creeping warmth spread through me at the realization. “I was under the impression that I was here as an escort for an FBI agent on duty. Is that what I’m here for?”

The flicker of insecurity in his eyes was vibrant enough to alert me of my mistake. His grip slackened, his eyes falling down to it before he lowered my arm to my side completely. A sudden tender expression of care that contrasted all the events that had led to it.

“Well, well, well…” I whispered through a smirk, placing my half-filled glass on the table beside the empty ones. “My apologies, sir. I misunderstood the nature of our relationship.”

While I spoke, I pressed my hands against his stomach, feeling the muscles tense at my touch. My adrenaline felt overwhelming; it was even stronger than it had been while I was being flogged in front of an audience, and I didn’t know what to do about that.

“You’re going to blow our cover.”

It was a fascinating comment for many reasons. What particularly interested me was the way it emphasized his current priorities, while also ensuring that our physicality increased.

He didn’t stop my hands, even as they slid down to rest on his belt. He looked away, and I felt the coldness of his absence. I didn’t like it.

I didn’t like a lot of the interaction, most notably the fact that I was quickly becoming hooked on his attention. I craved him not like a drug, but like a warm bed after a long day, or a cup of coffee on a dreary autumn morning.

I wanted him so badly, I forgot everything beyond Spencer Reid with full willingness. I threw myself into that longing and refused to look back.

Two of my fingers slid under the top of his slacks, my nails dragging over the soft skin of his stomach before I pulled him as close to me as I could with my hand behind his belt buckle. Taking full advantage of the proximity, I leaned into his body so that I could whisper in his ear, “Then you should do something to claim me quick.”

There was no time wasted, Spencer ripping my hand from its resting place and twisting my wrist in his hand. “Fine.” He seethed, dragging the both of us to the nearest table and practically tossing me over the wood. My hands barely broke the fall, and a dark chuckle left my lips at the level of callousness he could display so easily.

I hadn’t realized just how much I affected him.

“Take off your clothes and bend over.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention, a strange sort of unfamiliar warmth blooming in my chest. It was a curiosity, a burning desire to learn everything about the man who was so comfortable throwing women against tables.

“Yes, sir.” I sang more than said, quickly stripping from the little black dress designed for easy removal and letting the fabric fall to the floor. He never told me to turn around, so I didn’t, although I wanted nothing more than to show him my bare chest. I wanted him to face the depravity of the order, knowing full well that the only fabric beneath my dress was a pathetic strip of lace barely covering between my legs.

Slowly lowering myself onto my elbows, I rested my head against my arms and closed my eyes. There was no way for me to really know what he was planning on doing, but I could maintain my air of apathy and confidence until I found out.

When the smooth wool of his pants brushed against the back of my thighs, I sighed at the smallest semblance of contact. Because as delicious as anticipation was, I desperately wanted him to touch me. I’d watched those hands all night, wishing that I could will them to do something.

And something they did, albeit not what I expected.

I should have recognized where we were - On a better night, I would have. But that night, distracted by the mystery and exoticism of the foreigner in my world, I failed to notice that he’d thrown me straight onto an aftercare station.

The coolness of the gel wasn’t what I expected from him. His skin had always been near scorching in the little contact we’d had. It was still appreciated, though, covering my skin without care for where exactly the wounds were. No, his hands were indiscriminate. They simply wanted everything.

That was, until he slid one over my shoulder and around my neck, lifting me from the table and holding me just far enough away that I wouldn’t touch him. Still, my head was craned back far enough for him to whisper in my ear.

“Were you expecting something else?”

“I’d never doubt your intentions.” I hoarsely replied, smiling through the damned butterflies bursting through me.

He tapped his fingers gently over my pulse, his breathing shallow and stuttered over my ear as he softly corrected me. “Your heart rate says otherwise. Are you lying to me?”

I could hear the restraint in each syllable, and I moved my head the little he would allow. “No, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

Satisfied with the apology, he released my neck to continue his thorough exploration of my body. Each movement was deliberate, purposefully avoiding any area that might signal how badly I wanted him. At least, that was what I felt in the way his fingers would press just hard enough to register a hint of pain before they moved again.

“You’ve got quite a lot of men enamored with you.”

It wasn’t news to me, but for some reason, hearing it in his voice took the breath from my lungs, my stomach tensing when he pulled me against him despite the dampness of my back. The fabric scratched against the marks, forcing me to feel everything from before, but this time in his hands.

“You’re so used to getting everything you want. You’ve been spoiled rotten to the core.” There was a sharpness, a disgust in his voice that couldn’t be entirely faked. In fact, none of this could be faked or performed.

He could tell me all he wanted that this was part of the show, but no one else could hear the filthy words he was growling into my ear.

“Up there? With that boy? You call that submission, but it wasn’t. You still had all the power you wanted.” His nails digging into my hips were no longer subtle, and for a minute I worried that they might tear through the lace and leave me entirely bare. Not that I would have minded; the thought actually excited me.

But nothing could excite me more than the way his voice warped, his register so low that the words scratched his throat on their way out. “You have forgotten your _place_. You have forgotten your _purpose_.”

It was funny, how easily that voice could drown out all other sound. It wasn’t just noise, either, I realized — Spencer Reid was less a normal vacuum and more like a black hole, consuming any semblance of time and space until he was all that you could see, hear, or feel.

“And I think… it’s time someone reminded you.”

He knew it, too. With his fingers sliding under the band of my underwear, his other hand returned to my neck, squeezing until I finally opened my eyes that I hadn’t even realized I closed.

I was forced to view the crowd that had formed around the table, no doubt wondering what the fuck I was doing. The truth was, I didn’t know, either. I didn’t particularly care to figure it out. All I knew was that all of my thoughts were dominated by the man who was dangerously close to the true point of no return.

Make no mistake, it wasn’t sexual intimacy that I was scared he would venture too close to. Sex wasn’t the sun for this Icarus, that much was obvious.

He was having too much fun. I felt it in the way his hand came to my face, cradling my cheek and turning me away from the interested onlookers and back to him. It was very much like him, I determined. He couldn’t handle my eyes anywhere else for very long — not while he wanted my attention.

“You may speak.”

 _Can I_? It wasn’t a question of manners; I was trying to gauge my own ability to comprehend his words and form a coherent response.

“Yes, sir. Please.” Close enough, I figured. There was clearly only one thing he wanted, and it didn’t require any magic language.

He just wanted my submission, and that was what he had won, without any fight at all. I was almost glad there was a crowd; someone could watch this unfold and tell me tomorrow that it had actually happened. Because in that moment it felt like a sickly sweet dream, and I was caught in the saccharine taste of his title on my lips.

“Please teach me, sir.”

 _Teach me_ I said, but we both knew I meant _touch me._

Spencer obliged the request, abandoning his previous teasing to finally touch my breasts, kneading them gently in his hands. I gasped at the contact, feeling a bit silly at how responsive I was. The arching of my back meant more contact between us, and I prayed that he was as grateful as the tent in his pants suggested.

It was so easy. It was too easy, slipping into this other world with Spencer.

I should have known that things are never that easy.

“Do you see the man watching you in the corner to the right, with the black jacket and tinted glasses?”

There is a certain kind of strangeness, that unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach that happens when something breaks your perception of reality. There are many words that are attributed to that feeling, be it uncanny valley, nostalgia, or deja vu. I didn’t know what to call the way that question felt, though.

I was too lost in him to question it, shaking off the unease by following his directions until I landed on the person in question.

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you know him?”

It was a different kind of hurt, I decided. It definitely wasn’t the kind practiced by a sadomasochist. I cleared my throat and tried to knock aside any expectations that I’d rapidly formed despite knowing better. 

“I’m sorry, sir?” I croaked, sounding more confused and pathetic than I would have liked. Because I knew what was coming, and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to handle it. But I had to, because my world was watching, and Spencer was not a part of it.

“I’m asking for the case.”

Sex wasn’t the sun, and Spencer wasn’t Icarus. This was not a Greek tragedy at all, and yet there I was, a mess of remnants of who I used to be in his hands. He could wash me away without a worry in the world, and I would be that much less without him.

“Um, sorry. Actually, I-I…”

Why couldn’t I breathe? How did that man, the foolish, naive, callous man know how to break me down to more pliable parts? And why would he, knowing that he’d leave them scattered in his wake, with no way to come back together again?

I hated him. That fire he’d lit in me raged through me, and I wanted to let it burn him, but it felt like all I could do was release the smoke before it suffocated me, instead. Maybe that’s why my chest was heaving, feeling too hot under his hands, and I stumbled back into his arms that wrapped around me in a gentle embrace.

“Shhh. It’s okay.” He whispered, his arms creating a barrier from the rest of the crowd that immediately dispersed at the first sign of distress. “I’m stopping. It’s okay.” Spencer reassured me, turning me around to offer his chest as cover for the storm of my own panic.

“Sorry, I need to… I—“ I didn’t have a way to finish the sentence, but I knew that I needed to get away from him. I didn’t care about the indecency of my nudity; everyone here had seen me in much more compromising situations.

But they’d never seen me cry. Not like that, anyway.

The world spun around me as I shoved my way free, fighting every urge to run. Poise, control, grace. I repeated the words like a mantra, trying to hold back the burning in my eyes from the smoke filling my lungs.

I left so quickly that I think it took him a minute to catch up. Even in the high heels, I could walk faster than he could collect himself– and my clothes I’d carelessly left behind. I heard him following. I also heard him call my name as I shut the door of the private restroom, turning the lock and promptly collapsing on the floor.

I thought he would understand I didn’t want to talk to him if I simply ignored him, but I could tell by the soft rap of his hand against the door that I was sorely mistaken. I didn’t care; I didn’t answer.

But, of course, my noncompliance would irritate the man who had just succeeded in stripping me down to nothing and claiming me in front of the people I’d promised would never see that side of me.

“I have your clothes.” He said, quietly and with an unbecoming insecurity.

Biting down on my tongue, I swallowed the lump in my throat that threatened to make my voice tremble. “Thanks. You can leave them out there.”

“I need to talk to you.”

If I could have thrown something at him, I would have. Was it juvenile? Yes. Would it be immensely satisfying? Also yes.

“I don’t want to talk, Dr. Reid.” I said instead, trying to tap into the voice and persona I donned with literally every other man. But, like the best things always do, it disappeared on me when I needed it the most.

I expected him to fight for me, but he didn’t.

“Okay. I respect that.” He said, and I saw a sliver of light disappear from the side of the door as he hung the dress on the handle.

Why did it hurt that he didn’t fight to talk to me? I sounded like a teenager. I felt like one, too. I felt so childish, throwing a tantrum in the bathroom in hopes that he would chase after me. But even when he did, I hated him for it.

So why didn’t I want him to leave, either?

“Is he still here? The guy?” I called after a second of pure panic when I didn’t hear his presence anymore.

“No, he left after you did.”

He was still here. But there was no way to know how long that would continue. After all, I’d just succeeding in scaring away the reason he was here by having the stupidest sub-drop of all sub-drops, considering I wasn’t his fucking submissive.

“I’m sorry.” The word felt too natural on my tongue to still taste like blood.

“Don’t apologize.” It was an order, and a stern one at that. In a way, his voice was more demanding in its softness than the violence of his lower register.

“Are you alright?” He asked, and I could tell he expected a lie.

“I’m perfectly fine.”

And a lie is what he got. Any partner worth a damn would catch it in an instant and know that it was the most dangerous kind to leave untreated. Spencer wasn’t my partner, though. I hoped that he might let it go, cut his losses and leave me a mess for another man to clean up.

“(Y/n)…”

No such luck. The healthy communicator inside me screamed thanks and praise at his stubbornness, but unfortunately for the both of us, that voice wasn’t the one who controlled my mouth.

“I said I’m fine. There’s no point in you still being here, right? If he’s gone?” I asked, unable to stop my traitorous throat from exposing the fact that I was crying to anyone who could hear. Between choking on a sob and a pathetic tremble, I had to acknowledge that this was not going to be a good night.

Spencer was trying to formulate a a response, something to justify him staying and trying to help me even though we both knew he needed to leave. He was doing something good for the world with his work. He didn’t need to sit here and console the girl who’d seen him as a game and cried when she realized that he’d played her first.

I always was a sore loser.

“You already talked to everyone else you planned on meeting, so you can leave.” I explained before he had a chance to argue otherwise.

I heard him sigh, and the door creaked when he leaned against it. “Yeah, I can leave.” There was an undeniable powerlessness underlying the words.

Saying that he _could_ leave was very different from saying that he _wanted_ to.

But I wasn’t going to lose the opportunity to end this humiliating ordeal as quickly as possible. I stood up, wiping the tears from my cheeks and hoping that their origins would be attributed to physical pain rather than heartbreak.

“Okay. I’ll walk you out.” I announced, looking down at my body for the first time since he’d touched me.

I looked the same, but I wished I didn’t.

“It’s okay. I can leave on my own.” He returned, sadder but less hesitant.

I should have fought him like he had fought for me. I should have asked him to stay, opened the door to bear the consequences of our game to him and hope that it made him feel something. We could have gotten through it so easily if he wanted to. But if he didn’t want to, I wasn’t sure if I ever would.

“Okay. You have my phone number.”

Which voice would he hear, then? Did he hear the teenage version of myself, begging him to utilize the excuse? Or did he hear the adult that should know better, ordering him not to call me back unless there was a good reason to hurt us both again?

“Take care of yourself.” It was the last order he gave that night, and the last I thought I’d ever hear from him.

“I always do.” I replied, still unsure which of us I was trying to convince.

—

It was Friday night in Washington, D.C., but there was nothing calm about it. From the frantic road-raging maniacs stuck in the streets trying to flee the city to the nervous energy of the month’s munch, my mind was a disastrous jumble of contradictory thoughts and emotions.

It had been over a month since I last saw Spencer Reid, and we parted under an unfortunate set of circumstances that were… regrettable. The more I’d thought about it, the more embarrassed I was by my juvenile reaction. I’d considered calling him with an apology several times, but he never showed me any indication that such contact would be welcomed.

That was, until the munch. Seeing his name on the roster was strange. It was like butterflies and nausea wrapped in one; my crushing fear warring with the fluttery joy I felt. I tried not to look for him in the crowd, but found myself watching the clock instead, wondering if he was really planning on coming.

I knew his schedule was unpredictable, and that his possible presence didn’t necessarily mean that he was coming for me. Still, I couldn’t stop myself from hoping that he was coming to see me. I told myself it was because I wanted to hear his explanation - to hear his apology. I just had to keep telling myself that, hoping that eventually I would believe it.

But when he walked through the door, shedding the coat to reveal another goddamn three piece suit beneath, I knew that I’d never stood a chance. My feet were taking me to him before I ever gave the order, and before I knew it my hand was on his arm, a clever smile on my face to mask any potential insecurity.

“I thought I saw your name on the roster.” I said, somehow able to maintain my confident, sing-song timbre.

Then he had to go and smile, a small chuckle falling from his lips and mingling with my words in the tense air between us. “I’m glad to see you didn’t remove it.” He only somewhat joked. He didn’t move his arm, but I took my hand back, anyway.

“Why would I? Everyone is welcome at my events.” I gestured to the room, much less scandalous this time around. Most people were in things you’d see on the street, although there were a few more formally dressed men, like the FBI agent to my left, who were clearly looking for something specific.

And apparently, Spencer was looking for something _very_ specific.

“Can I talk to you? In private?”

The question caught me off guard even though I’d dreamed of him asking it. My arms came over my chest and almost knocked the contents from my glass. “I-I need to ask permission.” I pathetically replied, glancing around the room for literally any man I recognized.

None of them were there that night. Of course.

“I don’t mean to go all profiler on you…” He started, narrowing his eyes and tucking his lips to hide his smile, “but you’re drinking.”

At first I was just confused, glancing back at him like I wasn’t holding a half-empty wine glass. But once he pointed at the drink, I just scoffed. “Nothing gets past you, does it, sir?”

_Shit!_

“I’m sorry. I didn’t ask your permission to call you that.” I quickly followed, the honorific still playing on repeat in my mind. I’d only been with him for a few hours one night over a month ago, and I already couldn’t break the weakest habit?

“It’s alright.” There was a finality to the statement, a warning not to push it.

It made me want to. I wanted to push it because I wanted to see how much he loved the idea of me still thinking of him. I’d validated any arrogant belief he might have held— he got his answer of whether or not I still thought about that night. It felt unfair, but then I reminded myself that he’d showed up, so clearly, he thought about me, too.

“Can we? Talk?” He asked again, this time taking a step toward me and letting his hand fall to my lower back. I swore it was just to see if I would tremble at his touch.

I didn’t.

“Sure.” No sooner had the word left my lips than he whisked the two of us away to the closest empty room. I had no idea how he found it so quickly; it was like he’d come in with this exact plan already mapped out. I felt like he was rushing, trying to catch up for lost time.

But once the door shut, time returned to its regular pace, and his approach felt so much slower in comparison. I couldn’t tell if it was because I was scared what would happen when he got to me, or because I wanted my hands on him as soon as possible. It took everything I had in me, but I managed to keep them to myself.

Spencer opened his mouth for a second, but nothing came out. I could see the gears turning, but it seemed like he was just as lost in this situation as I was. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he told me that he hadn’t been in a relationship in some time. At least, not one like this.

When he did speak, it was decidedly worth the wait.

“I came here to apologize to you.”

And despite feeling like the weight of the world had been lifted from my chest, I still laughed at the thought.

“That’s not an appropriate reason to come to a munch.” I chastised, taking a sip from the drink I hadn’t even realized I was still holding. I didn’t want him to see how much the words meant to me. I didn’t want him to see me as weak as he made me feel. “You could have just called me.”

“I wanted to see you again.” He tried to correct, but I cut him off again, albeit mumbled and a bit annoyed.

“Still not an appropriate reason to come here.”

“I wanted to see you again in _this_ context.” Spencer was clearly growing tired of my obstinacy, but at the same time, there was a playfulness there. Just like last time. I was starting to get the idea that he liked the idea that I could match him in both stubbornness and sarcasm.

“Because it ended so well last time?” Without context, I might actually have sounded angry, but my true feelings were obvious in the way my body leaned towards him and sought any contact it could.

“Listen, I understand that I made you uncomfortable. I take full responsibility for that.”

A good start, I thought. It didn’t last long.

“… But you also were aware of the parameters of my being there, and you were the one who instigated the scene.” 

I snorted at the way he forced himself to continue the sentence despite a laugh starting to form through the words. It was refreshing to know that at least in this heavy conversation, I didn’t have to feel like a child. If anything, we felt like… friends.

“That doesn’t sound like a very good apology to me, Dr. Reid.” I teased, downing the rest of the contents of my cup to free my hands. When I licked the leftover liquid from my lips, his eyes darted down to the movement, and took a lot longer to return to my eyes than they should have.

I lifted my eyebrows to remind him that I was still waiting for his response, and he cleared his throat and, presumably, any lingering lewd thoughts.

“I’m sorry that I got so wrapped up in the fantasy that I forgot my job comes first. And I’m sorry that I hurt you in the process.”

It was what I’d wanted to hear, so why did I feel a little guilty after I’d gotten it? Why did I feel like I’d somehow tricked him into admitting some secret? He just made me feel so… stupid.

“The fantasy?” I’d meant to think it, but I said it aloud. His response didn’t disappoint.

“You’re a very beautiful woman.” He said, dropping the volume of his voice when we realized how close together we’d drifted. “That should come as no surprise to you.”

He was right; it shouldn’t have been surprising, and it wasn’t, really. I knew that some people found me desirable. For heaven’s sake, I had a collection of men who regularly trusted me to satisfy all of their wildest desires. But to hear that he wanted me badly enough to envision being one of those men was… exhilarating.

That being said, it still wasn’t enough to distract me from the grudge that stood between us. It was that small, nagging voice that demanded to be heard.

“You hurt my feelings because I thought you were only using me for your work.” I spoke quickly and with as much apathy as I could muster, waving my hand to dismiss the childish words as they came. After I’d said it out loud, it just seemed to ridiculous.

Thankfully, Spencer agreed. “That’s not true. I’m sorry that I ever gave you that impression.” He whispered, our bodies finally finding each other again in the quiet solitude of our own little world.

He made me feel so different, so ready to let go. He made me want to serve myself to him without reservation just to see how he would use the opportunity. And that feeling was so rare that I’d almost forgotten how overwhelming it could be.

So, I redirected the tension to more comfortable territory.

“Have you ever been a submissive, Dr. Reid?”

“No, I haven’t.” He answered without a single doubt or pause. It was a deliberate decision, and one that he’d clearly thought through on several occasions. That alone told me all I needed to know.

“But you’ve wanted to?” I asked, starting to gently sway our bodies in something that only vaguely resembled dancing.

“At one point or another, yes.”

There was undeniable honesty in his voice, but at the same time it was so obvious that he was hiding something. It wasn’t a dealbreaker; it was understandable. Most of us have some part of us that we keep to ourselves. But if I was going to pursue this relationship— which I was certainly going to do— then I needed to see it. Eventually.

Spencer was a man of science. Surely, he would understand the logic of it, no? “You’ll never be able to truly sympathize with me unless you’ve been on the other side.” I tried to appeal to any rational voice I could, but I was cut out so forcefully that it almost felt like a physical blow. 

“Plenty of dominants never experience a submissive headspace.”

“Those men aren’t you.” I shot back before he could advance any other part of that argument. I wasn’t going to listen to that nonsense, or even bother going into the societal problems that forced men into dominant roles. Realistically, Spencer definitely knew about them; he was choosing to ignore them to reach the conclusion he wanted. 

“I can teach you.” I said.

The world stopped, or it felt that way, at least. Maybe it was because Spencer stopped the swaying, or maybe it was because I saw so many walls rapidly form between us with just a few words.

“To be submissive?” He asked, ready to deny the proposition before he even understood what I was saying. 

“To be a better dominant.” I clarified, bringing the gentle rotation of the earth back to its previous glory.

But we weren’t out of the woods yet, with Spencer’s curiosity quickly turning into suspicion.

“Out of the kindness of your heart?” He wryly replied, his hands gaining courage as they spread over my lower back, keeping me close even as his words tried to push me away.

_How peculiar._

“Hopefully you will reward me with the fruits of my labor.” I sighed, acting like this was hard work rather than an absolute pleasure. Like I hadn’t been dreaming of the chance to explore this universe he’d awoken in me.

“That’s quite a long term request for the second time we’ve met.”

I told myself I was doing this to find his submission, but at the same time I knew that he already had mine.

“You’re free to say no.” I gently reminded him.

“I know.” He softly answered, letting his gaze cover every inch of my face, committing to memory the way I looked when I asked him to be mine.

“So are you interested?” I begged in the form of a question.

What Spencer did next was irritating, teasing, and so very much like him. Dipping down closer to my face, he waited until my eyes fluttered shut in anticipation of his lips on mine before he answered.

“Yes.” He whispered, his lips barely touching mine with the movement.

And then he let me go.

The air should have felt cold in his absence, but it wasn’t. His body heat lingered like a warm embrace that would last long after he left. Because that’s what men like him did — they became a part of you.

“Good.” I said, trying not to look as utterly rattled as I felt.

The asshole was smiling, watching me struggle to maintain my independence without him to lean on. Trying to pretend like I wanted to do anything other than throw myself in his arms and see where he took me.

I cleared my throat, hoping the sound would drown out the way my heart screamed for him. “Call me to set up our first meeting.” I instructed, digging through my purse for a business card like he didn’t already have my number. I just needed something to do with my hands. But he already had me figured out, nodding along with my bumbling movements until I abandoned the pursuit altogether.

“I need to get back to my guests!” I said way too loud and far too excited, clapping my hands together and avoiding his eyes. Because I knew that as soon as I looked at him, I would think about the fact he’d almost kissed me, and I’d let him know I wanted him to. “Feel free to stick around and socialize.”

“No need.” He should have smirked at my open display of longing, but he didn’t. He smiled, genuine and gentle. “I got what I came for.”

“Well. Take care of yourself, sir.” I didn’t hide the affection or the honorific this time. It felt good; it felt right.

“Until next time.”

Neither of us wanted the interaction to end, so when he opened the door I gave a stupid little wink with what I hoped would be the last word. “It’ll be my turn to do that, then.”

The joke landed well enough for him to chuckle. I walked with him to where his coat stayed hanging, and the silence didn’t feel suffocating. Once he was fully dressed, he did that thing again where he obviously wanted to say something but changed course before he could.

“Have a nice night.” He said, instead, and I decided that it was good enough for me.

“You too, sir.”

I was so sure that he’d given me the win and let me end the night on my terms and with assurance that my handle on his heart was just as strong as his on mine. But then he stopped right before his exit and said the one thing I wasn’t expecting.

“Spencer.” He said.

“You too, Spencer.” I corrected.

And when he left, the feelings didn’t. I could still feel his hands on my back and his breath on my skin. Because that was what men like him did.

They lingered. They became a part of you.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this fic "series" will only have a light plot (hopefully, if I don't get carried away). For the most part, it'll just be a kink anthology for me to write about whatever kinks people request.


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